


How Could This Happen to Me

by Pyrdiu_Lefquo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus Harry Potter, But odd, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossdressing, Drarry, F/F, F/M, Gay Harry Potter, Gen, Harry is Fleur's project, How Do I Tag, Like... one of the girls gay, Like... really weird, Long Dialogues, M/M, Mentorship, Mpreg, Other, Pretty quick relationship, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Veela (Harry Potter), Veela Harry Potter, but not, but only kinda, no beta we die like men, siriusly, slowish burn, technically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25399216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrdiu_Lefquo/pseuds/Pyrdiu_Lefquo
Summary: After exams in his thrid year, Harry decides he wants to follow in the Marauder's footsteps and become an animagus. This was a mistake. Watch Harry as he struggles with his new magical animagus form, and watch others as they try to help, but laugh behind his back.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	1. If I Were a Boy

Harry James Potter was a naturally curious thirteen year old. He also seemed to be blessed by Tyche with the most absurd amount of luck. This combination got Harry into (and out of) many a sticky situation. It was almost as if he was led by a beacon into danger, then led by the guiding hand of fate back out. 

For instance, in Harry’s first year, he had stumbled upon a plot most dangerous, a cerberus, a troll, a dragon, and Voldemort possessing his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He’d gotten into the situation through no fault of his own, but he’d honestly gotten out of it through what professor McGonagall would call ‘sheer dumb luck’.

In his second year, Harry had had to deal with a mad house elf, his relatives locking him in his room, a rogue bludger (sabotaged by said house elf), the fact that he could speak to snakes being known to the entire school now, the ostracization that came from his Parseltongue ability, a basilisk petrifying students, and Voldemort (again?) draining his friend’s sister of her life force to resurrect his sixteen year old self. All in all, a bad year for everyone.

Today, our intrepid hero was sitting on his bed, ruminating on his past year and the events thereof. This last year, Harry had received a most wondrous map and an amazing broom, learned an advanced spell, learned his greatest fear, and met his godfather. He had also come out as gay to his friends, roommates, and his teammates on he quidditch team yesterday evening (to surprisingly unanimous support). There was of course more than that, but that’s what it boiled down to, really. 

The boy with green eyes thought about the time-turner Hermione had had access to, and how neat it would be if she still had it. He thought about the adventure through time they’d taken to save both Buckbeak, and Sirius. And he thought about that time where Hermione had decked Malfoy straight into the ground. Good times. Of course, he could not forget about the year-long lessons with professor Lupin to cast the Patronus charm. Those days were the highlight of his year. He often learned about his parents through anecdotes Remus shared of their time in Hogwarts.

As he looked back on all of this, Harry eventually got stuck thinking about his godfather. Sirius Black; James and Lily’s friend, escaped innocent convict, prankster, and illegal animagus. Really, it was this last point that Harry was stuck on.

Harry wondered what it would be like to be an animal. To run through the forest like a wolf, or soar in the skies like a hawk. To control the lean power of a tiger, or even the raw, unadulterated strength of a dragon. Oh, what would the senses be like? Would he be able to track things by scent? See from miles away? Would he be able to swim underwater like a dolphin? 

The more he thought about it, the more Harry’s curiosity turned into want. And oh how he wanted it. If only he had a…

‘ _ Wait a tick,’  _ Harry thought, eyes widening, and mouth subconsciously forming a shit-eating grin. ‘ _ I  _ do  _ have someone who can show me how. I just need to ask him.’  _

Harry bolted into his dorm room, grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, and jotted down a quick letter to Sirius:

_ Hey  _ _~~Siri~~ _ _ Snuffles, _

_ I hope you’re safe and sound somewhere awesome. Honestly, I’d continue the regular letter stuff, but I’m too excited about this. So, you know how you, my dad, and the rat became animagi to help out Moony? How’d you do that? Was it any harder than learning the patronus? It may sound very selfish, but I was hoping you’d teach me how to become an animagus too. I’d love to follow in the Marauder’s footsteps! _

_ Obviously I wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger, but any tips would be great. I’m sure we can get the process started before the end of summer if you can point me toward some books I can find in Diagon. Merlin, I sound like Hermione when I say that. Anyway, stay safe Padfoot. _

_ \-- Harry _

Harry signed off on the letter and blew it dry as he made his way back through and out of the common room. 

Ignoring other students was second nature by now, and without too much delay, Harry had made his way up to the owlery. A few moments after that, Hedwig was winging her way to her mystery destination.

***HCTHtM***

Summer at the Dursley home was always a bit… harrowing. Lots of chores, little food, and the constant threat of Dudley. Thankfully, this year the Dursleys were being cowed by the threat of Harry siccing Sirius on them. In the two days he’d been home, he was allowed to keep his school paraphernalia in his room, do his homework, and even polish his broom with his downtime.

Really, the only downside of being at the Dursley’s so far this summer was Dudley’s diet. After noticing his weight problem, one of the nurses at Smelting’s had decided Harry’s cousin needed a carefully monitored list of meals. Unfortunately, this meant that aunt Petunia was forcing everybody else in the house to adhere to the same diet. In solidarity, she had said. Harry thought the idea of Dudley eating nothing but fruits and veg the entire summer was hilarious. Luckily, our sneaky little Gryffindor had managed to squirrel away a decent amount of food from the leaving feast at Hogwarts, so he could snack when he got too hungry.

Today, Harry was sitting on his bed doing some Transfiguration homework when the love of his life, the beautiful and regal Hedwig, unexpectedly swept into his room through his window, startling him so badly he fell off his bed. 

“Aughgh! Hedwig!” Harry cried out, somewhat hysterically, from the floor. “Some effing warning! Please!”

An amused sounding hoot was the only response he got. 

Harry picked himself up off the floor and looked over his girl. All feathers were in place, and she didn’t look too tired. She must have taken a good amount of rest while on her way back from Sirius. Speaking of his godfather, Hedwig was perched atop a moderately sized package that looked like a basket wrapped in a cloth of some sort. The green-eyed boy fingered the tag that was on the string tying the cloth closed, then pulled at the bow, causing the cloth to fall away and reveal the basket.

Nestled inside the basket were some candies and snacks, a tiny bottle with what looked like a mottled brown leaf inside, a book, a potion that looked like what Harry imagined LSD felt like to be on, and two innocent looking letters. Taking a look at the seemingly random items, Harry sighed, then picked up the letter from Sirius and broke the seal on it.

*****

_ Hey there favorite godson! _

_ Best wishes from the beautiful Caribbean, pup. Can’t tell you where I am specifically, and I’m gonna have to ask you not to send your Hedwig again. She’s very distinctive. Not many have a snowy owl like yours!  _

_ Anyway, regarding your wish to follow in mine and Prongs’ footsteps. Good on you Harry, and of course it's not selfish to want to have something in common with your father. I’d be proud to inaugurate the first of the next generation of Marauders! It makes me proud as hell you’re taking a dip into advanced magic like this, pup. _

_ Becoming an animagus is a huge responsibility, and it’s both harder and easier than casting your patronus. I’ve included a small book full of Mine, James, and Remus’ notes on how to facilitate the transformation in the quickest, easiest manner possible. Not gonna lie, Harry, I wouldn’t have been able to do this on my own, even as awesome as I am. I sent a letter to Moony to have him get everything for me. So send him a thank you when you get a chance.  _

_ That’s about it on my end, I have to go sun myself on the beach. Write back soon! _

_ \-- Snuffles _

_ P.S.: Great name, I let Moony in on it as well. _

*****

Harry smiled at his godfather’s letter, shaking his head at Sirius’ way of writing. He seemed like a teenager himself. 

Putting the letter aside, Harry picked up the book and sat down on his bed absently. Hedwig took insult to this, having almost been squished, and flew over to her perch. She tucked her head under her wing, and unceremoniously fell asleep. 

Harry scoffed at Hedwig and gave an amused grin at her disgruntlement. He then got back on task, looking at the title of the book. ‘The Marauder’s Guide to Becoming an Animagus in Six Months or Less!’ Harry thought it was a bit childish to add the exclamation point at the end, but to each their own. Harry, though excited to go through it, decided to see what Professor Lupin’s letter said before going any further with the book.

*****

_ Hello Harry, _

_ Assuming you’ve read Snuffles’ letter before this, you should know that I am the one who gathered the rest of the items in your basket for you. When Snuffles told me you wish to become an animagus, my first thought was ‘Of course the boy who wanted to learn to cast a patronus at 13 wants to dabble in advanced transfiguration as well. Why wouldn’t he?’  _

_ I was wary of doing this, I’ll have you know. But honestly, I believe you have the talent to succeed in this endeavor, so I shall make this as easy to understand as possible.  _

_ Laid in the basket that is - presumably - in front of you, are two items you may not be familiar with. The first is a bottle with a mandrake leaf in it. This particular leaf comes with a sticking charm triggered by putting it under your tongue. The charm will last for 28 days, or one full `moon cycle after you break the stasis seal on the bottle. The book will explain why this is necessary, but suffice to say, the next month is going to be fairly unpleasant for you until you get used to the taste.  _

_ The second item is a potion that Lily and I invented. Your father would say he had a hand in it since he brought the possibility to Lily’s attention, but he would be wrong. The recipe is in the book as well, but I thought I would help you cheat a little by brewing and bottling some before-hand.  _

_ The potion is a combination sedative and hallucinogen that when ingested by a magical person with an excess of mandrake essence floating in their veins, will send you into the primal subconscious. This state will let you meet your inner animal and connect magically to it, forging the initial bond necessary to transform that most magical folk find so difficult. Really a rather ingenious application of the peyote plant on your mother’s part. You also have no idea how many prefect patrols I had to take for her to keep quiet about it. _

_ Please note, when you take your potion, you should be laying down. Snuffles made the mistake of not doing so when he took his, and woke up with a broken nose. James was in tears. _

_ Furthermore, you will not be able to choose the creature you become. ‘You’re stuck with what you got’, as James would say.  _

_ Finally, and most importantly, be careful Harry. This is an advanced form of self-transfiguration, and getting the smallest detail wrong can lead to severe consequences. I care about you pup, and would rather you stay as human as possible. _

_ Write back soon, I miss our lessons. _

_ \-- Remus Lupin _

*****

Now excited beyond belief, Harry decided to jump right in. He took the book and turned to the first page, which detailed the history of the animagus transformation, and what to expect from the journey of pursuing your inner animal.  _ ‘Boring,’ _ Harry thought. He flipped forward until he saw what seemed to be step-by-step instructions. From the brevity and the easy to understand guide, it was probably not professor Lupin who had written this part. 

It seemed the first thing Harry needed to do was to put the mandrake leaf under his tongue. There was a small note about a sticking charm, but apparently Moony had already accounted for this. So, Harry popped the bottle open and stuck the small leaf to the bottom of his tongue. It felt weird and uncomfortable, but the sticking charm felt like it was doing its job. The worst part so far was the rancid taste of the leaf itself. This took first place on Harry’s ‘grossest taste ever’ list, and he’d had his head shoved into actual dog shite before. Retching a bit, Harry took one of the small chocolates in the basket and popped it into his mouth to drown out the taste for a while. It worked, but barely.

As he sucked on the chocolate, the boy looked at the book again. Apparently the next step was to make sure to sleep no more than 4 hours each night for the next month. Wondering at this, Harry flipped backward to the section detailing the instructions.

_ From our admittedly small group of test subjects, it seems that only when sleep deprived for extended periods of time can the new potion we made put the subject into a deep enough sleep to enter what we’re calling ‘the primal mind’. Mssrs. Prongs and Padfoot have had particular difficulty initiating this, because (in this Marauder’s humble opinion) they are filthy layabouts. (Edit: Mssr. Prongs will have you know Mssr. Moony, that he at least is not a filthy anything. Mssr. Prongs cannot, however, speak on behalf of Mssr. Padfoot, nor can he declaim your comment about him being a layabout. Mssr. Prongs needs his beauty sleep.) _

The entry continued with the Marauder’s sniping back and forth at each other in the third person, which had Harry cracking up silently. 

And so armed with a book, a leaf, and a potion of dubious efficacy, The Boy Who Lived began his journey to become the most badass creature he could possibly be.

***HCTHtM***

On the evening of July 24, Harry felt the mandrake leaf come loose in his mouth. Having gotten used to the feeling of it being stuck to his tongue, he reflexively swallowed it, then panicked, thinking he’d be poisoned. Being fairly sleep deprived, and looking forward to finally having a good night’s sleep, he shrugged it off, figuring if an excess of mandrake essence was needed, it wouldn’t hurt to have a little more when taking the potion. After getting dressed for bed, Harry lay down and downed his potion. He felt an ominous rumble in his gut, but before he could think too much on it, he was asleep.

*****

_ Self was in a city, it knew that. Faceless people passed it by, shoulder-to-shoulder as they bumped into and flowed around each other like water currents around river rocks. Self was beginning to become frightened, it knew it was here for a reason, but it couldn’t remember. ‘I’m looking for something,’ it thought. ‘Something important.’  _

_ Self, hearing an ominous sound, looked around wildly, then took off at a sprint. Pushing people to the side, the roar of city life and the incomprehensible murmur of too many voices to count fading into nothing behind the beating of its heart in its ears. _

_ Self continued on like this for what seemed like an eternity, its lungs burning for want of air, its heart trying to beat through its chest, its legs like jelly. Self’s sight and hearing began to fade, and it would have fallen over backward had it not been caught and wrapped in a warm, gentle embrace from behind.  _

_ Leaning into the unknown entity behind him, he felt breath on his ear as it said “Do not worry, my love. I am here. I have you. We shall meet soon.” _

_ Self felt a searing warmth fill its chest, an intimate connection with the entity behind it. “Good, darling. Let the feeling take you. Do not fight it.” _

_ The feeling spread from its chest, to its limbs, and finally to its head, almost like being lowered back first into a scalding hot tub. It listened to the voice behind it, and didn’t fight the feeling. The only action it took was to crane its head backward to get a glimpse of its savior.  _

_ As it blacked out, Self was only able to get a brief view of what looked like long, silken, silvery blond hair, and glowing green eyes that looked so kind… _

*****

Harry woke up with a gasp to the sound of banging on his door. “Boy!” He heard his aunt yell from the other side. “Get down here and start breakfast you lazy child!”

The black haired lad was still processing his trip into his primal mind, and took a moment to parse what aunt Petunia was hollering at him. When he finally realized it must be the next morning, he called out a quick “Yes aunt Petunia!” and swiftly got changed.

***HCTHtM***

A typical Dursley Monday morning consisted of Harry making breakfast, cleaning the dishes, then the kitchen, all while dodging cuffs about the head and body from his three relatives for the slightest imagined deficiency. Today was similar in that Harry did his chores, and had to play ‘Dodge the Dursleys’, but it was different than most in a very… magical way.

As he was putting away the cleaner and mop in his old room under the stairs, Harry heard a crash from upstairs, and the panicked cries of Hedwig. 

“Freak!” His uncle Vernon yelled from the living room. “Get your damn ruddy bird under control before I wring it's bloody neck!” At this threat, Harry sprinted up the stairs to see what was wrong with his familiar.

Upon entrance to his room, he saw the spastically fluttering, miniscule form of an absurdly adorable little owl carrying a letter bigger than it was ‘round the room, knocking things everywhere and harassing the life out of Hedwig.  _ ‘What the hell…’ _ Harry thought, dumbstruck at the sight. 

“Uh, hey owl…” Harry started. “Good owl, c’mere and give that letter up, eh?”

The little bird certainly seemed to have heard him, for it zoomed straight into Harry’s chest and fell to the ground, fluttering madly and looking slightly concussed. Harry took advantage of the poor bird’s unfortunate state by reaching down and relieving it of its burden, then quickly putting it into Hedwig’s empty cage. Shaking his head in disbelief at the poor creature, Harry looked at the letter and saw it was from his friend, Ron Weasley.

Paying no further mind to the possibly damaged creature after locking it in the cage, Harry quickly apologized to Hedwig for borrowing her cage like this, adjusted his glasses, then tore into the letter.

*****

_ Harry! _

_ Harry, you’ll never guess what happened! Go on, I give you a mo’. No? Couldn’t figure it out? Well, check this out; DAD GOT TICKETS TO THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP! I know, I know! Very exciting! Anyway, dad said you could come too since we got an extra ticket, and I guess the only real obstacle are the muggles now. Send a letter back saying when to come get you, and mum says we’ll host you for the rest of summer! _

_ Merlin, Harry! I never thought I’d get to go to any professional quidditch match, let alone the WORLD CUP, mate! I'm so excited! Oh yeah, Hermione’s here too. Don’t be mad, but since we’re gonna be sleeping in tents, we filled mum and dad in about that thing you told us last year about being into blokes. I know you’ll get pissy mate, but think of it this way; dad says since you’re not like to perv on the girls you can stay in the girls tent! So yeah, you’ll only be sharing with Hermione and Ginny, whereas we’ll have all the Weasley blokes in ours. That’s like… seven effing people in one tent mate! You’ve got it made. _

_ Anyway, Hermione says I’m getting off track, and being rude to boot. Oh, she says hi too. Just get the muggles to say you can go and we’ll pick you up the night before your birthday.  _

_ Cheers mate! _

_ \-- Ron _

*****

Harry smiled widely. Ron’s writing style was very distinctive and entertaining to read.. He wasn’t all that angry at his friend spilling the beans about his sexuality, he was actually grateful he wouldn't have to bunk somewhere near Ron, having had more than enough of that during the school year. It would certainly be awkward sleeping in the same tent as Hermione and Ginny, though.

The budding wizard’s smile was wiped off his face when he realized he would have to ask his uncle for permission to stay over at the Weasleys.  _ ‘Well, best to rip off the band-aid,’ _ he thought. Harry trudged quietly down the stairs, then into the living room, dreading the coming conversation. 

The boy’s uncle was sitting in his armchair, reading a newspaper with the telly in the background on the news channel, drinking a cup of tea before he had to leave for work. 

“Uncle Vernon?” Harry began tentatively. “Do you have a moment?”

“Hurry it up boy,” the obese man grunted. “You’ve got ‘til I’m done with my tea of my article, whichever comes first.”

Harry felt a little hope. This was going much better already than he thought it would. “Well, uncle. I’ve got an invite to a sports event from the ma… uh, of the type my sort would go to, and my friend Ron’s family has agreed to host me for the summer if you’re alright with it.” The boy took a second to gauge Vernon’s interest. Seeing him not entirely for it yet, Harry decided to go for broke. 

“You wouldn’t have to see me for the rest of the summer, and I’ll make sure to do  _ all _ the chores for the rest of the week I’m here. They want to come pick me up on Saturday.” Harry waited with bated breath for his uncle’s verdict.

The man hummed in thought, then asked the oddest line of questioning Harry had ever heard from his uncle. “This… sports event. What’s the game called?”

“Uhh.” Harry let out unconsciously, baffled that Vernon would ask anything about it at all. “It’s uhh, called quidditch.” The boy bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, slightly uncomfortable, but never turning down a chance to talk about his favorite sport.

Vernon grunted, displeased. “Quit-itch? Rubbish name. How’s it played?” 

Harry was wary now, but it was ingrained in him to answer his uncle’s questions, so he did. In as normal terms as he possibly could.

“Well, it’s a bit like a cross between dodgeball and footie.” Harry mused. There was no need to explain the snitch to his uncle. He wouldn’t get it anyway, the boy thought. “Granted, it’s played two hundred or so feet in the air.” 

Vernon’s eyes bulged in disbelief, then strange enough, narrowed in interest. “Hmm. Enjoy this sport much, do you?” 

Harry nodded his head rapidly, then added in “Yeah, I do. I’m actually on my house’s team. I play seeker.”

Vernon eyed the boy up and down. “You don’t look the sports type, boy.”

“Well, it’s my job to be the fastest and most agile on the team to catch a tiny little ball that ends the game.” Harry explained. “It’s actually to my advantage to be small and light-weight.”

The next 20 minutes were spent continuing the surprisingly pleasant conversation with his uncle about his favorite sport. Finally, Vernon looked at his watch, sighed, and looked back to Harry. 

“You have my permission, boy. I’ll send you out with thirty pound to get me a book on this sport of yours tomorrow. Also, you’ll show me your uniform and accoutrement when I get home from work tonight.” Harry’s uncle levered himself up from the chair and grabbed his cup to take into the kitchen. 

“And boy,” Vernon turned when he reached the hall. “The entire house had better be  _ spotless _ when I get home.”

As his uncle made his way through the kitchen and out the door, Harry stood in the living room motionlessly, thunderstruck at the concept that all he’d needed to get through to his uncle was to talk about sports of all things.

***HCTHtM***

After he’d sent a response off to Ron with Hedwig (and also the excitable little owl),the entire day was spent cleaning. Harry obsessively cleaned even the gutters outside and mowed the lawn. Harry was a dervish, sweeping all dirt and dust away from its place, leaving all surfaces in the house veritably gleaming.in his wake. Petunia didn’t even need to tell the boy to fix up lunch. She had come into the kitchen and there were two place settings with a turkey sandwich, orange, and water each already set up, with Harry vacuuming the living room while his aunt and cousin ate.It was in the lead up to dinner that Petunia had had enough.

“Boy!” She shouted from the living room. 

“Yes, aunt Petunia?” Harry shot back distractedly. “I’m cooking supper! I thought uncle Vernon and Dudley would like a nice fish steak tonight, with some steamed veg and mash.”

Petunia rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw Harry doing exactly as he’d described. She hummed lowly, and bit out “What’s got you in such a state today, freak?”

“Well, honestly aunt Petunia, it’s uncle Vernon. I had the oddest conversation with him earlier.” Harry, by then moving to a tune only he could hear, swished his way ‘round the kitchen while giving a summary of his talk with his uncle.

The blonde woman sat down at the dinner table, watching her nephew talk and work. She tracked the movements of his hips and shoulders and he nearly danced around the kitchen, grabbing plates and setting places.

Petunia, seemingly coming to a decision, scowled. “Set a place for yourself tonight, boy.” She ordered, then swept out of the kitchen to begin the process of tearing Dudley away from his video games. Harry, struck again by the oddness of today, obeyed his aunt.

Harry had just cleaned up after himself when he heard Vernon’s car pull up in the driveway. Looking around, he thought about anything else he could do in the short time he had before his uncle walked in the door.  _ ‘My quidditch book!’  _ He thought excitedly. If he didn’t have to buy a book, Vernon was sure to be happy. Harry lunged up the stairs, dove into his trunk, and victoriously pulled out ‘Quidditch Through the Ages’ from the sea of loose clothing and school supplies.

***HCTHtM***

Supper was a study in waiting for the other shoe to drop. After giving his uncle his quidditch book, Harry sat quietly to Vernon's left, and, eating what was quite possibly the largest meal he’d ever had in the Dursley home, watched him page through the introduction to the sport.

“Pet.” Vernon began suddenly, “It seems the Potter boy fancies himself an athlete. Probably the only thing productive he’s done in his life. Did your sister ever tell you about this game?”

Petunia went red at the mention of her sister, and Dudley looked at Harry disbelievingly. “Yes, Vernon dear, she did. I never really paid much attention to the thing though. It seemed to be a… their sort type of thing.” Harry, seeing his relatives talk even passively to each other about the magical world, was astonished, and had stopped eating with just a bit of veg on his plate.

“Potter. Finish eating, then go get into your uniform and bring down your… broomstick.” Harry’s eyes bugged out and he shoveled the remaining food into his mouth before sprinting up to his room to get into his quidditch robes. He could hear Dudley complaining about the attention Harry was getting.

After changing quickly, Harry nervously grabbed his Firebolt and made his way back downstairs, the tail of his tight fitting sport robe trailing just below his calf. Vernon had moved the couch to the wall, and made a large space in the center of the room that was obviously meant for Harry to stand in.

“So, boy. You play the…” Vernon looked down at the open book in his hand. “... seeker position, is that right?”

“Yes sir.” Harry answered. Vernon then began what seemed like an interrogation.

“And you… fly about at high speeds, then?” 

“Yes sir.”

“And that… fancy stick of yours is all that holds you up, is it?”

“Yes sir.”

“And the little golden ball. You fly about all game trying to catch it?”

“Yes sir.”

The lines of questioning went similarly for the next hour. Vernon’s keen eyes noted Harry’s comfort in the sports robes, asking about the differences between models of broom and quality of armor in the matches.Then came an order he couldn’t believe he was hearing.

“Go on then,” he stated. “Show me how you sit on the blasted thing.”

Harry was not the only person in the room to stare at the large, intimidating man. Petunia shot a glare of what seemed to be equal parts exasperation and betrayal..

“What, Pet?” Vernon defended himself. ”You know how I feel about sports and athleticism in youth. Teaches discipline and respect for a team.” Turning back to Harry, he continued. “Alright, off you go then.”

Harry, leery of showing off such obvious magic, but not wanting to ruin what little goodwill he’d been able to gain today, straddled his broom, set his feet in the stirrups, settled back against the cushioning charm, and lifted off a couple feet into the air. As always, the feeling of weightlessness brought a smile to his face.

The Dursleys, however, had various and in one case extreme reactions. Dudley squeaked and ran out of the room. Petunia’s lips almost seemed to quirk up into a smile at the look on her husband’s face. And Vernon. Vernon seemed entirely too intrigued for Harry’s liking.

His uncle made a circle around Harry, waving his hand underneath and above the broom, giving Harry little pushes to see how he corrected his course, and finally motioned Harry back down to the ground. 

“You seem comfortable enough in your uniform and on the stick, I wager you aren’t lying about being on your sports team.” Harry took minor offence to the backhanded compliment, but realized afterward that it was a  _ compliment. _ The first he’d ever received from his uncle. 

Harry blushed lightly, suddenly a little shy at all the attention, when suddenly Vernon knocked on one of his bracers.

“Seems sturdy enough,” Vernon mused out loud. “Same with the boots. Don’t see the purpose of the overcoat, though.” 

Harry, not sure if that was a question, deigned to remain silent.. After getting through the armored parts of the uniform, Vernon took Harry roughly by the chin, turning his head side to side. “We’ll have to get him some proper sport goggles and contact lenses, Pet, before he leaves. Now, boy. Go upstairs and be quiet, your aunt and I have some talking to do.”

***HCTHtM***

*****

_ Dear professor Lupin, _

_ I didn’t know who to talk to about this, but I believe someone may have Confunded my uncle. Not really, but he’s become abnormally interested in quidditch since I asked him if I could go to the Weasley’s for the World Cup. He’s being oddly nice to me as well, and offered to buy sports equipment for me. I’m not sure how to react, but I guess I just needed to write it down and get someone’s opinion on it. _

_ Hoping you can help, _

_ \-- Harry _

*****

As the week went by, Harry found himself ordered to make himself protein heavy breakfasts, and to go on runs through the neighborhood (“An athlete’s got to build muscle and endurance boy, see to it while you’re away”). He also was made to lift light weights in the garage, taken to an optometrist to be fitted for contact lenses, and to sporting goods and department stores to get what Vernon called ‘superior quality gloves’, some high quality spotting goggles, and what Vernon described as ‘respectable clothing for a budding sportsman’, but really meant a new, fitted wardrobe’.

In the evenings, Harry would practice connecting with his inner animal, but all he could do so far was recreate the feeling of warmth in his chest that he’d experienced in his primal mind. It was a bit frustrating, but the Marauder’s book said a disciplined (or stubborn) mind could get the process completed in two to three months, while an undisciplined (or weak-willed) person could get it done in about five months.

Harry figured he must be making good progress, because the book said that once he could get the warm feeling all the way to his fingers, toes, and the top of his head, he’d be ready to start making minor changes in his anatomy. Harry had made it to his neck, elbows, knees, and pelvis. It was on Friday evening he’d finally been able to spread the feeling to his entire body. 

On Saturday evening, Harry was packed and ready to head to the park a few blocks away, Hedwig was winging her way toward the Burrow, and uncle Vernon was standing in front of his nephew, looking down on him with what was a comparatively softer expression than his normal glare.

“Well, boy. You’re off then.” He stated awkwardly, “You… you do well in that quidditch game, you understand me? I’ll not have you wasting my investment in you.”

Harry, still unused to Vernon’s new attitude toward him, stuttered “Y-yes sir, I’ll make sure to.”

“And try to man up, Potter. No more of that stuttering and looking at the ground shite. You’re a sportsman, show some self-confidence.”

“Yes, uncle Vernon,” Harry stated, looking up to meet his uncle’s gaze.

With an approving nod, the overweight man nodded toward the door, grunting out “Don’t want to be late now.”

***HCTHtM***

When Harry reached the park, lugging his trunk behind him, the Weasley boys were already there. Ron, the twins, and Arthur had all showed up. 

“Ah, there you are Harry,” Arthur called out exuberantly. “How’s your holiday been so far?”

Harry, not sure how to answer that question without giving away his less than ideal home life, just shrugged and said “It’s been alright, I guess. Better than usual. Got a couple of early birthday presents from the Dursleys.”

“Good, good!” The man exclaimed. “Are you excited for the World Cup next month?”

“Absolutely!” Harry responded, nodding rapidly.

Ron gave a wave as he walked over from the swing set, while the twins grabbed Harry’s trunk and went over to their father with a dual wink to its owner. In short order, everyone was standing in a circle and Arthur held out a foot-long bit of rope. Harry, confused, followed everyone else’s lead when they reached out and touched the rope with a pointer finger. 

“Now boys,” Arthur looked at the twins with a sharp expression. “Make sure to keep a tight grip on that trunk.”

“”Yes dad”” the boys responded in stereo.

And with that, Arthur tapped his wand to the rope and incanted “The Burrow!”

***HCTHtM***

After what had to be the most harrowing journey since the floo disaster of second year, Harry fell to his knees on the grass lawn of the Burrow, gasping for breath and trying to keep himself from vomiting.

“Ugh….” Harry moaned, “What the hell was that?”

Arthur gave a little chuckle at Harry’s distress. “That was a portkey, my boy. Magical transportation for those without floo access, an apparition license, or who can’t afford a ride on the Knight Bus. We’ll be taking one to the World Cup arena next month.”

“Blimey Harry,” Ron laughed out, holding his hand out to help his friend up. “That’s about the worst portkey landing I’ve ever seen!”

“Sod off, mate.” Harry responded lightly, taking the proffered limb with a grin.

“Seriously though Harrykins,” one of the twins began.

“That was a-”

“spectacular dive-”

“You took, there.” the other finished, Harry’s eyes bouncing between the two of them as they passed the sentence back and forth. 

“Ugh, I swear, you two have to have some kind of twin telepathy or something.” Harry grumbled, miffed that he’d already had to start dealing with the madness that was the Weasley twins.

Fred and George quickly turned to each other, exaggeratedly shocked looks on their faces and simultaneously exclaimed ““How did he know?!””

Harry and Ron broke, laughing quietly, and the twins gave their guest their best mischievous smiles. 

“Y’know, Harrykins,” one of them piped up, “Our older brother Bill is in residence this month. Your friend Hermione seems smitten.”

“Too true, Georgie. Seems all the witches want a piece of our dear William.” Harry assumed from past experience the one who had spoken was actually George. Then, the meaning of whatever twin it was that had spoken pierced his thoughts.

“So Hermione has a new crush, eh?” Harry smirked, ready to needle her like he had with Lockheart. 

“Oh, sweet-

“Innocent-”

“Harry.” This was already giving Harry a headache, and he’d not even been at the Burrow ten minutes yet.

“Best not to be-”

“casting stones-”

“before you meet our Bill.”

Harry waited a moment before commenting wryly, “You done yet?”

““Never!”” The boys sang together, causing both Harry and Ron to groan good naturedly.

It was at this point Harry opened the door to the Burrow, and was immediately swept into a gentle whirlwind of activity that (regardless of its lack of force) left the only black haired resident of the house dizzy and very suddenly sitting in a chair at the dinner table next to Ron and Hermione. To Harry’s mortification and all his friends’ amusement, he was also sat across from the ginger man that must be Bill.

Tall, lithe, and well-dressed in a trendy vest, a button-down shirt, comfortable jeans, and dragonhide boots, with a dragon fang earring hanging from his left lobe, the eldest son of the Weasleys was… fit. It seemed the only way to describe him. Harry blushed deeply, and hid his face behind his hands. Hermione giggled at Harry, knowing exactly what the problem was, and Ron groaned out “Ugh… Merlin save me, not  _ both  _ of them!” Harry jabbed Ron in the side, causing the boy to yelp in response, and shot him a heated look, warning him about making any sort of comment.

Barring the difficulty Harry and Hermione had with holding a conversation with Bill, the rest of dinner went swimmingly. Harry caught up with everyone, Ginny was opening up to him, Mrs. Weasley had stuffed him to bursting (“You’re always so skinny, dear”), and sleeping arrangements were made (Harry would be bunking with Ginny and Hermione, at the command of Mrs. Weasley).

After dinner, Harry found a quiet place outside to do his animagus meditation, and he did what the book said to do next, which was… let go. It was much harder than it sounded, honestly. He had to concentrate on letting the heat flow through his limbs, but simultaneously relax his control of his magic to let the creature inside take over.

And interestingly, Harry had found out magical creatures were perfectly valid forms. There were multiple accounts of Krup and Kneazle animagi, and this fact bolstered Harry’s hope that he’d be something cool. With the hair and eyes he’d seen, he wasn’t likely to be something four legged. He’d narrowed it down to some type of ape or monkey. He was probably a primate or some kind of long-haired simian.

After doing this for an hour, Harry headed back inside and up to Ginny’ room. He gave a brief knock and entered once he’d received acknowledgement. The boy’s trunk was in the only uncluttered corner of the room, alongside a cot with a thick blanket and fluffy pillow. Unfortunately for him though, both Ginny and Hermione were there, and they’d fixed knowing grins on their faces. 

“Hellooo Harry!” Ginny nearly crooned. “I saw you were having some trouble with my eldest brother…”

Ah. So they were getting right to it then. “Ugh, do we have to Ginny? Hermione, back me up? We don’t need to go into this.”

“Oh. No. Absolutely not.” Hermione retorted with an amused, but still kind of guilty face. “My best friend’s first crush? This is a great time to get you back for second year.” Harry gently flopped onto his cot and covered his head with the provided pillow, hoping to suffocate himself before having to talk about men with two girls.

***HCTHtM***

Time spent at the Burrow was much different than time spent at the Dursley home. There were still chores to do, but with five brothers, a sister and two guests present, it almost seemed like the chores finished themselves. De-gnoming the garden was still a favorite task of Harry’s, along with tending the chickens and helping Mrs. Weasley prep meals. Ginny needled Hermione about Bill, and the two of them jeered at Harry for his inability to stay calm around the man (“Aww, you’re just like Ginny was first year!” Hermione had joked). Harry did finally get around to asking about the tiny owl that Ron had sent (“I call him Pig. Ginny named him Pigwidgeon, and now he won’t answer to anything else.” he’d informed Harry).

Harry had made sure to inform Mrs. Weasley of his new diet, as mandated by uncle Vernon, and kept up with his running and cardio regimen. Lacking a neighborhood, Harry did laps around the property’s fence line instead (It was more than adequate for his purposes), and lacking weights, he just used some heavy items from around the house. He did get heated looks from Ginny and Hermione for waking them up when leaving the room, but nothing good came without a price. 

The only real downer of the bunch was Percy. When Charlie had arrived, he and Bill had proceeded to have an epic table battle in the backyard one night before dinner, and right after Bill’s table had smashed Charlie’s to pieces (amid the cheering of those underage children watching), Percy had poked his head out of his window to rain on their parade.  _ Apparently _ somebody had gotten a job in the ministry, and his  _ very important work _ could not be completed with all the ruckus outside.

Regardless of Percy, Harry’s birthday was a blast. He got some good presents. Mostly clothing and replacement items for his broom polishing kit. Nothing really too interesting. The first two weeks after his birthday however, had Harry showing some real progress with his animagus form. He’d managed to shrink himself (His form seemed to stand roughly 5ft tall, because for the life of him, Harry could not make himself even one fraction of an inch smaller), and to give his hair platinum blonde highlights. Though when he got his hair to about half blonde, his chest started aching for some reason.

A great break from the madness of the Burrow came in the form of a trip to Diagon alley. Mrs. Weasley got Harry fitted for dress robes for some unnamed event that was coming later in the year. Harry vetoed the idea of a bottle-green robe, and replaced it with one in a rich purple with a similarly colored button-up and a black vest and tie. He thought there would be far too much green with the ones the Weasley matriarch had selected.

The remaining two weeks actually kind of concerned Harry, because he’d reached a point where his hair was almost completely blonde, and Hermione was starting to ask questions. 

“Harry, why is your hair blonde?”

“Harry, what possessed you to dye your hair such a  _ drastically  _ different color?”

“Harry, have you gotten shorter, or is it just me?”

And the bad part was, Harry couldn’t change back to normal, which got the Weasleys asking the same questions as Hermione, and even worse, the effing ache in his chest had spread to basically his whole body, and just wouldn’t go away, and  _ even worse,  _ the boys of the Weasley family were all eyeing him in an odd fashion, and acting weird around him. Bill and Charlie kept their distance a bit, and Arthur seemed unaffected. 

***HCTHtM***

On August 24, Harry was woken up gently by Hermione at a truly ungodly hour. It couldn’t have been later than 3 in the morning when Harry and Ginny were both dragged yawning down to the kitchen for an early breakfast. Harry didn’t even get up this early for his runs. Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long before all the boys trooped downstairs and the mood started to pick up. It was the day before the World Cup, and they’d be leaving soon to take a portkey to the location of the arena campgrounds.

After breakfast, Harry puttered around for a half hour, then grabbed his clothes, took a shower, changed into some of his new, properly fitted muggle clothes. He then packed his bag with clothes for the next day and some pocket money for souvenirs,and once ready, the fourteen year old checked in on Hermione and Ginny. 

After knocking on the door and getting approval to enter, Harry went in while still towelling his hair. As per usual, Hermione was almost finished wrangling her hair up into a frizzy ponytail, and Ginny was half-dressed. Seeing one of the girls in partial nudity was, as indicated before, not exactly an uncommon occurrence. Sure, it was awkward for the first, but seeing as Harry never stared, they had gotten used to it. Harry’s poor eyes would never recover.

“Ugh, Ginny. Why can’t you ever actually be dressed when I come in?” Harry complained, dropping on to her bed next to Hermione and helping his best friend with her hair. 

“Because Harry,” Ginny shot back in a snotty tone. “it’s hot as hell in this room with three people, and it’s not even like...” The redheaded girl trailed off, looking thoughtfully at Harry before walking over.

“Ginny!” Harry near-shouted, covering his eyes as she got closer in nothing but jeans and her bra. “ _ Please  _ put on your shirt!”

“Oh, shut it Harry. I just noticed something.” Ginny pulled the boy up to his feet, then turned him to Hermione. “‘Mione, look.”

After the brown haired girl turned her attention toward Harry, Ginny ran her hand along his side, from armpit to hip. “What is this?” She asked, pointing out the slight curves, where normally there was only a straight profile.

“Huh.” Hermione said, tilting her head in thought. “Harry, it may be that I’ve never seen you in properly fitted clothes before, but you’ve got an incredibly feminine frame, did you know that?” The Boy Who Lived lightly flailed his hands at Ginny to get her to back off, then turned to look in the girl’s mirror. 

“There’s no possible way that…” Harry trailed off, gawking at himself in the mirror. At first glance, he didn’t notice much besides the fact his hair was now fully platinum blonde and miraculously laying down flat. He’d known it’d gotten long enough to need to tied back, but it was still weird to see. Once he started taking note of his body though, he saw that he did indeed have slight curves. A light flaring of the hips and a barely pinched waist. Turning to view his profile, Harry sighed in defeat at what he knew was coming.

Ginny exclaimed loudly “HARRY, you’ve got an  _ arse _ on you!” The boy in question wished whole-heartedly for death.

“Ginny, can we discuss this later?” Harry asked desperately. “ _ After _ you’re dressed, and we’ve arrived at the World Cup?”

Hermione looked exaggeratedly grave as she turned to Ginny, stating “Oh, we’ll be talking about this later for sure. It would be a crime to let you keep wearing boys clothes with a body like that.”

“HERMIONE! _ PLEASE! _ ” Harry shouted. The two girls did naught but laugh at his misery while the boy tried to suffocate himself again.

After his awful morning, an even more awful 30 minute walk through Ottery St. Catchpole, and an even more awful hike up Stoatshead Hill, Harry was sweating through his jumper and hat to take it off. Stuffing it into his bag, Harry looked back across the wonderful view of the countryside as Hermione crested the Hill, out of breath and gasping. 

Helping his friend to catch her breath caused Harry to miss a lot of what Arther had started saying to the other kids, but he gathered that Cedric Diggory and his father Amos were present, and boy, was that man proud of his son. Amos was going on about how Cdric had beaten Harry at quidditch last year, and honestly, the man was right. Even if Harry had gotten messed up by the dementors, Cedric still made the catch. After some more catching up between the two men, and between Cedric and the other kids, everyone was gathered around the old boot Mr. Diggory had found. 

“Alright everyone it’s about that time.” Mr. Weasley announced. “Make sure you’ve got a firm touch on the portkey, or you’ll get left behind.”

Amos held his watch up and counted down. “5...4...3...2...1…” When Cedric’s father reached zero, the old boot glowed blue, and Harry felt the hook feeling behind his navel again, before being swept away into a maelstrom of blurred and distorted images.

***HCTHtM***

As Harry landed, he was overwhelmed with the sound of hundreds of voices nattering at each other. Alongside the sickness of using a portkey, and dealing with trying to hear anything through the background noise, the boy hardly heard anything about where they were to set up camp before he was led away from the portkey arrival area by Hermione. It was only after about five minutes of walking that Harry was able to truly appreciate what was going on here. It was like a huge festival.

Garish tents of all sizes, color, and quality were on display. Some of them looked like miniature castles, some like dinky little muggle tents. And once you’d stopped taking the tents themselves into account, there were people of all nationalities and colors. And Harry  _ did  _ mean all colors. There was a man passing by with neon green skin and sunny yellow hair, next to the darkest man the young wizard had ever seen. The clothing was almost all muggle, and very interesting, but definitely odd. It seemed like someone dove into a closet and assigned articles of clothing at random.

It was like only the Weasleys and a couple of other families had taken the time to learn how muggles actually dressed. This felt absurd to Harry, seeing as Ron was fourteen years old and capable of blending in better than almost any of the adults in the clearing. Asking Mr. Weasley about the sheer variety of fashion earned him an explanation that wizards were largely ignorant of muggle dress codes, and that this was about as good as he’d ever seen it with such a large gathering of people.

The one thing that most everyone seemed to have in common, however, was a fascination with Harry. It looked like no one recognized him, but he was nonetheless fawned over by the greater majority of men in his general vicinity. There was even one brave teen that blushingly asked if Harry needed an escort around the area. Harry had blinked a couple times in confusion before shaking his head, declining politely, and letting himself be pulled along after Hermione. 

Another fifteen minutes of walking, they had reached their destination. A decently sized spot, big enough to fit two small tents. Mr. Weasley wrangled the children into setting up his borrowed tents ‘the muggle way’. The elder Weasley tried to help, but it ended up being Harry and Hermione that figured out the entire process.

After the camp was set up, Harry was pulled into the smaller tent (reserved for the girls and Harry). He and Hermione had marvelled at how much space they had (and made the requisite Dr. Who jokes about it being bigger on the inside); there was enough room for each of them to have an actual bed, not just a cot, and attached to the main area of the tent was a bathroom with what seemed like magical plumbing. 

Once the two muggle-raised had finished their exploration of the tent, Harry was subjected to potentially the most mortifying physical inspection he’d ever been a part of. Ginny had his shirt off in a trice, and was turning him around while poking and prodding, and Hermione was looking at him pensively as if he were a puzzle she couldn’t quite sort out.

“Harry,” Ginny wondered aloud while running her hands around his hips and the sides of his chest area, which had gained a little fat and was very sensitive. “You  _ are _ a boy, right? Because your body is  _ super _ girly. I’d definitely mistake you for a girl if I didn’t already know you.”

Harry gawked at Ginny, feeling vaguely insulted. “She’s sort of right though, Harry.” Hermione piped up from behind him. The half-dressed boy spun around, a light expression of betrayal on his face. His best friend’s eyes were roving his body, unfazed and unrepentant. 

“As this month’s gone on, you’ve been getting progressively more girlish,” Hermione pointed out, continuing her visual analysis. 

“You’ve gotten noticeably shorter and more slender, your hips are definitely wider, now that I look at it, and… not to put too fine a point on it Harry, but it’s almost like you have… well, breasts.”she breathed deeply and exhaled slowly through her nose before stating reluctantly, “It looks like you’re growing breasts, Harry.” The boy in question reflexively put his arm over his chest, self-conscious about the point she’d made.

Harry put up with the manhandling for just a minute or so more, before backing away, grumpily putting his shirt back on. “Yes! Obviously I’m a boy. I have a… dammit. Y’know. A…” He awkwardly motioned in the general direction of his crotch

“I’m gay, not an effing girl. Merlin, Ginny.” All of them blushed a little at Harry’s implication. 

Before they could continue their inquisition, Mr. Weasley’s voice called out from the closed tent flap. “Harry! Girls! You alright in there? We’re going to go explore the campgrounds for awhile. If you leave, make sure to be back by 6!”

Thusly interrupted, the topic was dropped. The three teenagers unloaded their bags, and already putting the conversation out of their minds, went to enjoy the festival.

The rest of the day passed pretty uneventfully, with Harry buying a black and scarlet, short-sleeved Bulgaria jersey that reached partway down his thighs, two sets of omnioculars (Ron was sure to want a pair), and various small quidditch themed tchotchkes. The Weasley clan and guests converged back on their campsite that evening to gorge on sausages and some snacks Ron’s mother had included in a basket filled with fruit, bread, and miscellaneous other baked goods. After dinner, the children were too tired from a day of exercise and excitement to stay awake much longer, so they collectively decided to call it a night.

***HCTHtM***

The next morning, everyone woke up late and took what money Mr. Weasley had portioned out for them to get breakfast at a food stand. As an aside, wizarding food stands were very cool. Most had samples of their menu items floating around under stasis charms so you could get an idea of the options available. Harry had a fry-up for his morning meal because he knew he was unlike to have a proper lunch.

Deciding to spend the day practicing instead of wandering, Harry headed back to the tent and crossed his legs on his bed. Reaching toward his link to his (what he was beginning to suspect was a humanoid) animagus form, Harry let go and tried for any further changes.He passed the morning and afternoon in this fashion, but only felt a slight tingling in his abdomen for his efforts, which he ascribed to being hungry again.

That evening, Harry was roused from his meditation by Hermione and Ginny coming into the tent to get ready for the game and drop off whatever purchases they’d made.

“Harry?” Hermione asked oddly. “Have you just been sitting in here all day? Did you not want to explore? I found this great stall on the history of-”

“Hermione, neither of us want to hear about the history of the World Cup.” Ginny groaned.

Then, with short updates from the two on how the two girls’ day had gone, Harry got changed into his Bulgaria jersey and the trio went to go find the rest of Ginny’s family.

After they caught up with the Weasleys, they wound up making their slow way along with all the other spectators to the stadium. As the family plus two walked, they could hear the voices of thousands blend into a background static that set the mood in the best way. The atmosphere was tense, the excitement and giddy anticipation made it so Harry couldn’t stop his lips from forming a small grin. They walked for about twenty minutes at a good pace, joshing and roughhousing with each other, before the crush of the crowd made such actions impossible. They had arrived at the stadium.

The venue in question loomed above them, all golden walls and extravagant architecture. Its size was such that Harry was sure it could fit about the Dursley home inside it about a hundred times. The plus side of this was that his friends and he were already within its shadow, and it blocked out the sun on the horizon, making it much easier to see.

"It seats a hundred thousand," Mr. Weasley said conspiratorially, leaning in to Harry’s ear so the boy could actually hear him. Spotting the awestruck look on Harry's face Arther continued. "A very large ministry task force has been working on it all year. There are Muggle Repelling Charms all over, along with wide-scale disillusionment and silencing wards.” The Weasley patriarch continued on for a while about the security measures while leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

Harry could honestly be far more bothered than he was to remember much of the conversations on the way to the Top Box, which apparently had the best seats in the house. All he could do was take in the appearance of the building as his excitement reached near-critical levels of intensity. Purple flooring, dark wood furniture, wall sconces and chandeliers in oiled iron; it was all so medieval that Harry could hardly believe he was actually going to a sporting event.

The group finally made it to the stairs and started climbing, and climbing, and climbing. At last they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and smack dab between the goal posts. About twenty purple chairs with gold embroidery stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything and everyone had an aura of strange golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as could be from up here, and Harry knew the grass was likely trimmed and made to look presentable just before the public was admitted. 

At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Harry's eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though a huge hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again. The wide-eyed boy couldn’t help but ignore the ads though, in favor of taking in the whole stadium again. He’d never seen so many people in one place together before. 

Harry tore his eyes away from the field and looked over his shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting near the end of the row behind them. The creature was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, batlike ears were very, very familiar. A vague phantom pain in his arm caused Harry to snap out of his reverie..

"Dobby?" said Harry incredulously.

The poor little thing looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose like a ripe tomato. It wasn't Dobby - it was, however, unmistakably a house-elf, as Harry's friend Dobby had been.

"Did sir just call Winky Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Harry’s little friend’s had been, a tinny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Harry suspected, though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf, that this one might just be female. Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest.

"Sorry," Harry told the elf, "I just thought you were someone I knew."

"But Winky knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit.

What followed was one of the most enlightening, amusing, and baffling conversations Harry had ever had. Harry and Hermione learned that elves were not only made to do things they may not want to in addition to their normal duties, they were made to wash, cook, and clean without pay. They seemed a lot like indentured servants, really. It reminded Harry unpleasantly of his childhood at the Dursleys.

On the other hand, Winky had a lot to say about Dobby, and how he seemed to be a disgraceful anomaly among house-elves.

_ ‘Well, at least he’s not hexing bludgers anymore,’ _ Harry thought absently as he was nudged by Ron.

"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dobby was  _ way _ weirder," said Harry fervently. He then reached into the satchel he’d brought, pulling out one of his sets of omnioculars. Seeing the second pair, Harry remembered suddenly why he’d gotten them in the first place.

Harry elbowed Ron in the arm as he held out the complicated looking device. “Here,” the boy chirped conspiratorially, “see what you make of these.”

Ron looked mildly annoyed at Harry for what he must have thought was an extravagant splurge, but he accepted the omnioculars without verbal complaint. “I’ll get them back to you after the match,” he said quietly, but Harry could see the excited grin forming on his ginger friend’s face as he played with the settings on his new toy.

Harry decided to foist his magical viewing device off onto the twins, happy he’d convinced Ron to use the other pair.

“Oh look Harry!” the boy heard Hermione exclaim from his other side. “The program says ‘A display from the team mascots will precede the match’. I wonder what they’re going to do?”

Arthur piped up to answer her question. “National teams always bring creatures from their native lands. You know, to put on a bit of a show. It’s usually quite the spectacle.”

Harry thought that was pretty cool. He was interested to see what kind of creatures the teams had brought. The raven haired boy was suddenly knocked from his reverie when he heard a commotion from the entrance to the viewing area. His next few minutes were taken up with minister for magic Cornelius Fudge treating Harry like his own beloved child while introducing the boy to the Bulgarian minister.

The older gentleman looked like he was merely indulging the excited englishman until he saw Harry’s scar. At that point, he gabbled something unintelligible in his native tongue to one of his attendants, then took a closer look at Harry. The man looked him up and down, then looked somewhat smug upon seeing Harry’s Bulgaria jersey. It was then that the worst possible guests made their appearance.

Stately and impeccably dressed in muted colors, platinum blonde hair (not unlike Harry’s own new coloring) in perfect order, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy swept into the top box like they owned it (which, if Harry had heard correctly at Hogwarts, they probably could if they wanted to). They quickly inserted themselves into the conversation between ministers, and ignored the rest of the group of people. Unfortunately, this course of action only served to reveal the third and final member of their family; nearly white hair, silver eyes, and smug grin on prominent display; the bane of Harry’s existence.

Draco Malfoy. The git. The insufferable, maddening smirk on his face made Harry want to kick the prat in the shin just to hear him yelp in pain. Harry did have to stop to appreciate the figure the Slytherin boy cut though. His upper-class breeding had resulted in fairly aristocratic, fine boned, and graceful body structure. His childhood fat was coming off, leaving toned arms and legs, and Harry blushed lightly as he thought  _ ‘if he’d turn just a little…’ _

“Ah. Potty, Weasel. I see you’ve brought along the entire horde of peasants.” There it was. That was why Harry couldn’t stand the idiot boy in front of him. No matter how good looking he’d become, his personality was fair repulsive. Harry shook his head to clear it as Malfoy continued. “Seems like you’ve also brought your pet mudbl… muggleborn. How big a dent in your vaults did this make, Scarhead? Also, I see you’ve decided to do something with your hair. Glad it’s not that black travesty it was before.” And indeed, Harry’s hair had gotten to shoulder length and was straight and silky. He had put it up in a small ponytail to keep it out of the way.

Feeling a little feisty, and not wanting to play the blonde boy’s games, Harry retorted “Aww, Malfoy, you say such sweet things.” He clasped his hands together at his chest and fluttered his eyelashes at his confused rival. “Surely that means you’d love to come sit with us for the game?” 

Malfoy’s face darkened in embarrassment, and he obstinately said with as much grace and charm as possible, “Of course Potter, how could I turn down such a polite invitation.” The blonde stepped up beside Harry and held his arm elbow out, making eye contact with his green-eyed counterpart, eyebrow raised and smirking snottily.

Never one to turn down a challenge, especially from Malfoy, Harry blushed deeply and threaded his arm with the other boy’s and let the Slytherin lead him to two empty seats, leaving behind a confused and slightly mortified Hermione trying desperately not to laugh.

***HCTHtM***

Ten minutes of awkward silence between the two passed before he heard Malfoy whisper, “Potter, what the hell are you playing at?”

“Nothing, Malfoy,” Harry grinned innocently. “Can’t a boy enjoy a game of quidditch with a  _ fine _ pureblood companion?” The rich boy’s face took on an interesting shade of pink as he opened his mouth to (presumably) continue their verbal sparring, but he was interrupted by a deep cultured voice. 

“Draco. You seem to be getting along nicely with your little friend here. Why don’t you introduce her?” Harry stiffened in his seat, eyes going wide and staring at his rival. He shook his head lightly, then turned around to see the refined countenance of Lucius Malfoy. 

The younger Malfoy stood up, and motioned Harry to get up too. “Father,” he started, pulling Harry to his side. “This is uhh… Lauren Devereaux, from France. She attends Beauxbatons, but was raised in England.” The boy gave Harry a look that said  _ ‘go along with it’. _

Harry nodded his head nervously and stammered out “Nice to m-meet you, uh… Lord Malfoy…”

Draco’s father took Harry’s hand and kissed the back of it lightly, “A pleasure, young lady. Please treat my son nicely tonight. He does not often get a chance to socialize with his French peers.” Harry blushed to the roots of his hair as the senior Malfoy went to sit with his wife. Harry could hear Hermione and Ginny’s cackling from all the way down the row.

“Well, Potter,” Draco bit out through gritted teeth. “Seems like we’re stuck here. Try not to make things worse.”

Harry’s attention was, however, not currently focussed on Malfoy the younger. Point of fact, his mind had stopped entirely at the older man’s actions and words, and had not yet cottoned on to the fact Draco was now pushing him down into his seat. Once he’d had a second to process what had just happened, he turned to his current partner and hissed “What the sodding  _ shit _ was that,  _ Draco _ ?”

Through a forced grin, the boy answered “Smile,  _ Lauren, _ my father is still watching us.” Harry sucked in a breath to start berating the other boy, but at that moment he was interrupted by flute music blaring through the stadium, and he felt Malfoy’s hot breath on his ear as he whispered “Just get through the match and we never have to speak of this again.” Harry shuddered lightly, but nodded curtly nonetheless.

The next few minutes were a whirl of green and literal gold as the Irish national team’s mascots (leprechauns), mischievously made their way through the stadium making extravagant formations and raining coins down on the spectators. Harry made to cover his head with his jersey, but Malfoy covered them both with his cloak instead. When the effeminate boy turned to Draco to find out why, the boy in question motioned lightly with his head toward his father, who indeed seemed to still be watching them with interest.

After the impromptu imitation of a shower, Harry heard a collective male roar of approval as a line of ten shockingly beautiful women strode out wearing what seemed to be belly dancing outfits. Then, a heavy, percussive beat started up. The women, all blonde in the same way Draco (and Harry) were, began gyrating and making small, graceful movements with their feet and arms. Tambourines, woodwinds, and string instruments Harry could name joined the tune and he was mystified by the dance. He felt a strangely familiar pull inside himself that resonated with the beat. But interestingly, when Harry looked around to see everyone else’s reaction, most of the men in the entire arena were near mobbing the security wizards trying to get to the field, or else posturing in a ridiculous manner.

“What the…” Harry trailed off, confused and irritated at the terrible sight of all the men being idiots.

“Veela, Potter, have you never heard of them?” Malfoy responded to Harry’s as yet unfinished question. “The allure, it makes most men go crazy. Father and I are resistant because of repeated exposure, but how are you not reacting? It’s pretty universal, and the immune are unusually rare.”

Harry had no answer to this question, so he just shrugged with his face screwed up in a hopeless grin. “Looks like it’s just another one of those weird ‘Harry Potter’ things.”

“Ex _ cuse  _ me?” Draco exclaimed quietly. “A what now?”

“Y’know. A ‘Harry Potter’ thing.” Harry responded. “Like, instantly being good on a broom, or being a parselmouth. Or having a murderous psychopath come and kill your family, only to have the same spell that killed your parents bounce off of you and kill your attacker.”

Draco looked a little abashed at that last example, but took a moment to wrap his head around the idea Harry had put out there. “Huh,” he grunted out. “Yeah, there’s no real better way to phrase that, is there?”

Harry looked a little smug, and that comment seemed to be the thing that tore the awkward wall between them down. For the rest of the song and the game, Harry and Malfoy made small talk and had their first civil conversation since they’d met in Madam Malkins before their first year.  _ ‘This may not be as terrible a situation as I thought. It’s almost like a… date,’ _ Harry thought to himself, his face heating again at how close his rival had moved his chair so they could talk over the background noise. Their laughing and general demeanor was the source of astounded looks from Hermione, Ginny, and the twins. Ronald was too enamoured by the game to pay attention.

Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and smirked a bit, thinking about how he’d never seen his dragon interact so freely with a female peer. He’d have to put feelers out to this Devereaux family to see if they would be amenable to a betrothal in the future. If not, he would need to subtly push his boy away from the girl. Lucius sighed and chuckled a little, thinking he was getting ahead of himself.

Once the game was finished (which Ireland won, to Harry’s minor disappointment) and they’d dodged the other occupants of the top box, Draco was instructed by his father to escort his companion back to her family, then to take his portkey home.

Halfway to the Weasley’s tent, Harry had forgotten his arm was still linked with Draco’s. They’d had to keep up appearances for his father, and had just never let go of each other. It was comfortable, and could he be blamed for wanting to pretend to be on what could be called his first date? The newly blonde boy was shocked out of his thoughts at the sound himself giggling. Did he just giggle? Was he legitimately enjoying time with his biggest rival?

Harry’s face fell introspectively. He’d very much enjoyed Malfoy’s company, and would remember this night for a long time, but it was time to face the music. That music being the absolutely terrible inquisition that was likely facing him in the girl’s tent tonight.

“Malf… Draco.” Harry sighted out, reluctantly, stopping and taking his arm away from the silver eyed Slytherin. “What are we doing?”

Malfoy stopped as well, a brief expression of hurt crossing his face, before being replaced by a neutral mask. “Well, Potter, I’d say I am escorting you back to the weasels. What do you think is happening?”

“What I think is happening is that we’re being more than civil with one another, friendly even.” Harry started pacing while talking. “I think that this is the best night I’ve had all summer, and it's only partially because of the quidditch game.” Draco’s eyes widened in apprehension, looking behind the feminine boy, but Harry continued on. “ _ I  _ think,” he whirled and pointed agitatedly at the boy, “that I’ve thought twice of our interactions as a date, and that if you weren’t such a… such a…  _ git _ toward my friends, I would definitely think about kissing you right abou…”

Harry stopped, then replayed what he’d said, his face slowly going from pale, to pink, to crimson in rapid succession. He looked back up at the boy opposite him, who had his face in his hand. “Potter,” he said resignedly, looking past Harry, then into the emerald eyes across from him. “I think it’s best that I let you go back to the… your friends tents. I will send an owl to arrange a time to meet up so we can discuss this with clear heads.” With that, Malfoy turned around and a shiver went down the green eyed boy’s spine when he heard two voices clear their throats behind him expectantly.

***HCTHtM***

Back in the girl’s tent, Harry was laying on his bed, pillow over his face, wondering where it had all gone wrong. He thought it might have been during his face-off with Draco before the game. It had definitely gone off-rail when he’d thought of the blonde as a person instead of a rival. But really, it was that confession, he thought. When his filter had temporarily gone missing behind steel walls of impulsivity, embarrassment, and determination to find some answers. 

Regardless of the root cause of the issue, Harry was now faced with two girls who were champing at the bit for him to acknowledge them. After getting caught ranting to Malfoy, the both of them had grabbed the boy’s arms and frog-marched him back to the tent, ignoring the boys trying to get Harry’s attention in their quest for information. 

When Harry sat back up, it was to the annoying sight of a grinning Ginny and a Hermione that looked at him like he was mentally compromised. Ginny, like she was a cat that had cornered a particularly juicy mouse, sauntered up to the embarrassed teenager and sat beside him. “Haaaarryyyy,” she whined exaggeratedly, putting her head on his shoulder, “I thought you were crushing on Bill!”

The boy cleared his throat, then responded, “W-well, I don’t know what you heard tonight, but Dra…  _ Malfoy _ was just trying to get us through an extremely uncomfortable thing with his dad.”

“Weak!” Ginny sang out, laughing lightly. “Bad Keeping Potter. We heard your entire confession to Malfoy.”

“It’s true, Harry.” Hermione added. “We showed up right after you giggled at him. I suggested we take a moment to announce ourselves to see how you and he got along without everyone present.”

The blonde boy took his hair down from its ponytail and ran a hand through it, cherishing the relief something so simple could provide. He then began the tale of how he’d come to build the fantasy in his head that he was on a date with a boy he liked, and that it wasn’t necessarily Malfoy that it had to be. He did, however, admit to thinking Draco was very kissable. This caused squeals of delight to burst forth from Ginny, and earned him a fond look from Hermione.

The three of them stayed up late, still jazzed from the game. Harry was just starting to enjoy the analysis of his interactions with Draco, when there was a bang and a loud shout from outside. The sounds were getting noticeably louder and closer, when the tent flap was ripped open and a stern looking Arthur Weasley was standing, silhouetted by wizard light and flickering flames. 

“Girls! Harry! There’s been an assault by death eaters across the clearing. Stay inside and keep your wands out. I’ve fitted the tent with an anti-flame charm, but it never hurts to be safe.” And with that, the three were left alone again, huddled together in their pyjamas and with their wands out

Two hours went by. Two stress filled, nerve-wracking hours. But in the end, the aggressors were ousted, and Mr. Weasley came back into the tent, weary and grim-faced. “Pack up girls, we’re going home. Molly has been informed, and we’ve got a portkey leaving in twenty minutes.

***HCTHtM***

As promised, twenty minutes later, all the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione were safely ensconced in the Burrow, Molly stress-cooking furiously, and all the kids finally succumbing to the stress now that the adrenaline was gone. The teens were dropping left and right, dragging themselves back into their rooms to pass out on their beds.

But, as all things do, the night passed into the morning, and with morning came sunlight. Sunlight, which as it is wont to do, stabbed cleanly through the minute space in the curtains straight into Harry Potter’s face. Jerking his head backward and opening his eyes resulted in him cursing and getting himself into the shower and ready for his morning meditation. Since it was so late, Harry decided to take his alone time outside. 

The teenager sat underneath an apple tree in the Weasley orchard, and turned his attention inward. After a few seconds, Harry felt the warm energy again. Gently coaxing it out, he sent it down his limbs and was surprised to see he was able to get it to reach his fingers and toes. Not in a position to be excited about his progress, he continued on trying to get the feeling up to the top of his head. It felt like an age later when he noticed he’d done it. 

Harry, giddy with excitement, fell out of his meditation, not able to keep it up anymore. He’d finally be able to begin the process of actually changing. Harry was so happy, he decided to do his physical workout as well, just to blow off some steam.

Halfway through his pushups, he heard Mrs. Weasley call everyone to breakfast. Harry finished his set, then hopped up, jogged back to the house, and entered the kitchen. He tried to sit at the table, but Molly was having none of it. 

“You go wash up, young man.” she ordered, brandishing her spoon. “I’ll not have you at my table with grass stained hands and sweat dripping down your face.”

Harry went over to the ground floor bathroom and did as he was told, then came back to enjoy the breakfast provided. The majority of the breakfast conversation was about the quidditch match, but Hermione and Ginny had pulled Harry into a little huddle at one end of the table to discuss things that were more interesting. (Draco Malfoy, primarily) It seemed like breakfast was finally winding down when Harry spoke up to the family matriarch. 

“S’cuse me Mrs. Weasly.” Harry said nervously. He had an audience, after all. “What happened at the campground last night?”

All attention turned to Molly Weasley, who deftly slipped by the question by letting them know it was no subject of breakfast, and not for children either. It seemed like the matter was closed.

The last week at the Weasleys was bittersweet. Harry had finally managed to make some noticeable changes. His hair had grown down to his mid-back, and his body seemed to grow more petite as the days went by. On August 30, the problem had gotten so bad he’d had to ask Mrs. Weasley to go shopping at Diagon for another new set of school clothes and to go into muggle London to get new everyday clothes. It had gotten to the point where he had to wear clothes from the girl’s section of the stores.

It was all worth it though, to Harry, because even though he couldn’t change back for some reason, at least nothing had gone terribly wrong in the process. He’d at least confirmed that he’d stopped shrinking. He’d also narrowed down the list of possibilities to ‘definitely something human-shaped’, which, in the scope of things, was pretty cool.

All too soon, it was September 1, and Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron were seated on the Hogwarts Express. They were waving at the Weasley parents when a letter dropped into Harry’s hand. He looked at the envelope, hoping to see who it was from, and wondering why he'd gotten it on the train.

It was from Draco.


	2. Girls/Girls/Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dears. Here’s a new chapter. I had a lot of inspiration leading up to today, so I hope you enjoy. If it seems to be going quickly, there’s a reason. The story will slow down significantly as we go and we get into the details. If anyone finds anything to critique, please let me know.
> 
> \-- Pyrdiu Lefquo

*****

_ Mr. Harry Potter, _

_ It would please me greatly if you were to join me in the second car’s third compartment on the left, so that we might discuss matters of personal importance to the both of us. _

_ I will have one companion of mine - Pansy Parkinson - present during discussions to act as a chaperone. If it would not inconvenience you, please bring a friend as well.  _

_ If you intend to refuse, please do your best to find me during the school year. _

_ \-- Draco Malfoy _

_ ***** _

Harry blinked a few times in confusion. The script was neat and elegant, the tone was proper and professional, and it just seemed like something a person like Malfoy would write. Harry shook his head, then ran a hand down his face in minor irritation. ‘ _ Why couldn’t Malfoy just come talk instead of sending a letter?’  _ Harry wondered.

The embarrassed boy handed the letter off to Hermione and grinned when her eyes rose and met his. “You know you’re coming with me, right?” He stated, one blonde eyebrow raised.

“Of course I’m going to come be your chaperone, Harry.” Hermione responded, nose in the air, as if offended. “Just who do you think I am?”

“My best friend, obviously.” Harry laughed as he hugged the girl, getting close enough to dodge flailing limbs and squeezing tightly enough to make Hermione wheeze.

***HCTHtM***

Ten minutes later, Harry and Hermione (after making excuses to Ron and Ginny) were standing outside Draco’s compartment. Hermione, seeing Harry’s nervousness, rolled her eyes and knocked on the sliding door. “It’s Harry and Hermione. Can we come in?”

“You may.” A feminine voice from inside said.

Hermione opened the door, then stopped in the doorway. Harry, interested, peeked around her middle, because he wasn’t tall enough to look over her shoulder. “Well, doesn’t this just beat all?” He said, a light scowl on his face. 

The inside of the compartment was nowhere near as drab as the one they’d left behind. It was  _ much _ bigger, for one. There were two comfortable looking couches across from each other, some chairs scattered through the space, and various tables and surfaces. The luggage area was to the right of the room, separated by a curtain.

Draco was sitting on one of the couches in the middle of the room, Pansy next to him. He said not a word, and in fact didn’t even look at Harry, focussing on making up some tea. Pansy, on the other hand, rose and motioned to the couch opposite them.

“Please, sit. I’m Pansy Parkinson. You may call me Pansy for the duration of this meeting.”

Harry and Hermione, confused, took their seats. Draco said nothing, but passed a tea cup and some cream and sugar to them. Harry opened his mouth to talk to Draco, but was interrupted by Pansy. 

“Harry, you shouldn’t talk, since you brought a chaperone. At least, not to Draco. You can address your concerns quietly to your friend, and she will address me. I am speaking on behalf of Draco.”

The Potter boy was about to disregard this and talk directly to Draco (to ask what the hell was going on), when Hermione squeezed his leg warningly and shook her head. She had a very serious look on her face.

“On behalf of Harry,” Hermione started in a formal tone of voice, “I would like to ask just what is happening here. We were under the impression that Mal… Draco wanted to talk about what happened at and after the World Cup.”

Draco nodded, still not speaking. The brunette girl next to him took a sip of her tea, then set it down gently. She looked up at Hermione and said “As neither of you are familiar with pureblood customs, I suppose I’ll have to explain briefly the point of this meeting.” The girl motioned with her hand to Draco, who pulled out a single Jonquil flower and held it out to Harry, who took it with a small smile.

“Now that Harry has taken his gift, you and I can talk properly, Granger.” Pansy smiled tightly, obviously trying very hard to be polite. “This is the first meet and greet of a proper pureblood courtship. Now, being… muggle raised,” she took the time to shudder before continuing, “you may wonder why we’re talking about courtship after one incident during the summer.”

Hermione nodded her head warily, and Harry looked incredulously at Draco, who had the grace to look down embarrassedly. Hermione made a noise of agreement, and was going to respond, but her friend pulled her arm, whispered into her ear, and nodded toward their counterparts, blushing furiously.

Clearing her throat, Hermione asked “Does this have anything to do with Draco’s father’s misunderstanding before the game?”

Draco nodded, and Pansy hit his knee lightly, warning him against interacting with Hermione. “Yes,” she said, still glaring at Draco. “It does. Draco’s father did some looking into the ‘Devereaux’ family of France, hoping to start this process with them in the coming years, but  _ interestingly _ , there seemed to be no records of a pureblood family with that name.”

Draco’s head hung defeatedly, and Harry laughed out loud, which earned him as cuffing ‘round the head from Hermione. 

“Pansy,” the bushy haired girl asked, intrigued. “Did Mr. Malfoy find out it was Harry in the top box?”

The Slytherin girl nodded patiently, then replied, “He did, and Draco was unable to convince him that Harry doesn’t want to enter into a courtship. This brings us to the current situation.”

“B...but I’m a boy!” Harry blurted out, his face beet red and eyes wide as could be, forgetting he wasn’t supposed to talk. “How can I-”

“Granger!” Pansy interrupted, with venom in her voice. “Keep him in line! This needs to go well to keep Draco out of trouble, and another infraction will blow this out of the water!” Harry’s face reddened in both anger and embarrassment.

Taking a deep, calming breath, the pug-nosed girl continued on with what she was trying to say. “The fact is, Draco’s father does not care about such petty things such as gender.” She kept her eyes purely on Hermione, though she was very obviously talking to Harry at this point. “We live in a world of magic. Obviously an enterprising homosexual would come up with a way for two men to get pregnant for heirs.”

Hermione looked scandalized. “P-p-pregnancy?! We haven’t even discussed them  _ dating  _ yet, let alone getting one of them  _ pregnant. _ ” 

“Well, obviously there would be a long courtship, followed by an appropriate betrothal contract and Ball.” Pansy’s eyes glazed a little in thought as she continued. “There would be a wonderful marriage ritual, Harry would of course be the bride. Wouldn’t he just look precious in a wedding dress? He is very girly now, after all.”

Hermione raised her hand in front of herself, waving away the notion. “Putting aside how amazing Harry would look in a dress,” Harry shot her a look of betrayal, even as Draco snickered. “We would still need to discuss the logistics of this, assuming Harry is even alright with it!”

“Your friend already accepted Draco’s flower.” Pansy said calmly and slowly, as if talking to a child. “He’s already accepted this. All that’s left is to, as their chaperones, discuss when and where they are allowed to have private time. Well, private enough, considering we’ll be there throughout.”

Hermione and Pansy continued talking about where’s, when’s, and why’s of the courtship. Harry and Draco seemed to have no real deciding power about anything of any importance, and if either tried to pipe in, they were shushed by Pansy and told to let the two girls handle everything.. 

Harry was reeling a little bit, feeling like this day had gone from easygoing (if a little stressful), to an unstoppable sequence of events that he understood little about. Courtships? Betrothals? Did this mean he and Draco were dating? All because he accepted a flower as a gift? As his thoughts turned to Draco, they inevitably turned to the rivalry between them and how even though they’d been relaxed with each other at the World Cup, it was likely over a shared love of quidditch. He wondered how the two of them were supposed to get over three school years of enmity, let alone develop actual romantic feelings for each other. And what Ron would say… Harry shivered lightly and put the thought out of his mind for another day.

It was getting a little dark by the time the ‘negotiations’ had concluded. Harry had gleaned the following from the conversation:

*****

\- As the one who accepted the flower from Draco, Harry was to be the one who was courted.

\- Harry and Draco were not allowed to be alone together without their chaperones or have sexual contact with each other for any reason.

\- They weren’t supposed to have any physical contact with each other, except linking arms or hugs sometimes.

\- They were supposed to attend Hogsmeade weekends together and take a walk around school grounds at least once a week.

\- They were supposed to be nice (or at least civil) to each other’s friends.

\- Draco was to be some kind of pureblood gentleman and give him presents and stuff. 

*****

There were a whole bunch of other small rules and stuff, and Hermione -bless her heart- had even written them all down for Harry so he didn’t have to remember them right now. It seemed though, that the two boys would be going on supervised dates. But seriously, why would they think to put in stuff about sex? Harry was patently uninterested in participating in that. He was curious, of course, but what teenager wasn’t?

The whole thing had taken almost the whole trip, and Harry was surprised to hear the announcement that it was time to get changed and prepare for their arrival. The four of them managed to do so with only minor issues. Pansy had been scandalized that Harry had been rooming with two girls all summer, and hastened out the door with Draco, while Harry just shrugged at Hermione and turned around to get his uniform on. 

***HCTHtM***

All in all, the walk to the carriages and the ride to the castle was… a disaster. For some reason, Harry was being forced to hang off Draco’s arm (“to mark his claim on you, Harry”), Ron had been spitting mad that Harry had ridden with the two Slytherins, and all the students were whispering behind Harry’s back more than ever.

Thankfully though, the four teens had made their way up the walk and into the Great Hall without actual incident. Harry went to take his arm away from Draco’s, but the Malfoy scion shook his head and escorted his fellow blonde to a seat at the Gryffindor table. The students already there looked ready to kick up a fuss, but kept quiet for now, curious more than furious.

Harry extricated his arm -finally- from Draco’s, and was about to sit down when, out of nowhere, Draco took his hand and kissed the back of it before wishing him good night and walking toward the Slytherin table. Harry felt almost dizzy with the amount of embarrassment he was feeling, and he was sure Hermione -who was standing next to him- could feel the heat radiating from his face. The whispers around him sprang back up with a vengeance.

The blonde boy was able to sit down and get through the sorting without further problems, though he couldn’t help peeking over at Malfoy every once in a while. Almost every time he did, he saw Draco looking back. Soon enough, dinner was served, and Harry was pulled into conversation with Hermione and Ron. The topic of conversation could probably be guessed even by a first year.

When dinner was finished, The headmaster stood up and made his beginning of the year announcements. The usual things were covered, where was off-limits, what Mr. Filch had put on the forbidden items list, when they would receive their schedules, etcetera. It was after all of this that the old man dropped the bomb. 

“The quidditch cup will not be held this year.”

The students exploded into chaotic denials and outrage. Dumbledore let it happen for a minute, then raised his wand. A loud  _ BANG  _ sounded through the hall, and the headmaster finally had the children’s attention again.

What followed was an explanation that Hogwarts was hosting the Triwizard Tournament, which excited Harry, but triggered his danger sense for some reason. He felt apprehension, but pushed it out of his mind so he could talk with his friends.

***HCTHtM***

As everyone got up to head to their houses, Harry made small talk with everyone. Hermione was sticking close to him, and Ron must have noticed, because when they’d gotten back to the Gryffindor common room, he pulled Harry off to the side with a bruising grip, and glared at Hermione when she tried to follow.

“Harry, mate, what the hell is going on?” he whispered loudly.

Harry didn’t really want to talk about this stuff with Ron, but the ginger was his best friend. Well, his second best friend, Hermione definitely was first. Nevertheless, he sighed and motioned Ron to sit with him in the corner, and shook his head defeatedly when he saw Hermione being herded into another corner by the Gryffindor girls. It looked like there was gonna be no going back into the closet after the events of tonight. 

Looking Ron in the eyes, Harry began his attempt to navigate the coming minefield that was his friend’s temper. “Ron, do you remember how my life is in danger at least once every year since we started school?” The redhead nodded.

“And you remember how almost every time, there was a long-ish period of emotional strife that starts sometime around October?” Ron nodded again. 

“So, you’d agree that this year, should it follow that pattern, should be pretty complicated and unfortunate?”

Ron finally seemed to be cottoning on to what Harry was trying to say. “So, what? It’s already getting weird this year?”

Harry made a noise of affirmation, avoiding Ron’s gaze in the process. “Yeah, well, y’see…”

“C’mon, Harry, out with it.” Ron insisted. “Not like you’re turning Dark or anything.”

“Ugh, fine.” Harry sighed, “But you aren’t gonna like it, and you need to be quiet. We’re in the common room.”

Ron nodded impatiently.

“I-I’m dating Draco.”

The taller boy’s face clouded, the whole thing taking on a mien of anger, “So it’s Draco now, is it?” he ground out, and Harry scrambled to do damage control before Ron could start yelling.

“I-it’s not like  _ actual  _ dating though. It’s like, t-this thing they were talking about, with a courtship and chaperones, and like, it’s all very weird…”

The youngest Weasley boy’s eyes were closed, trying (for once) to reign in his own temper. Once he’d taken a couple minutes to get a handle on it, Harry picked back up where he left off. 

“I mean, it’s probably not even going to last long, and even though he’s pretty f-”

“Stop, mate, please!” Ron covered his ears, as if the act would shield him from corrupt thoughts of Harry and Malfoy. “I don’t need to know about your attraction to Malfoy!”

“But Ron-”

“Nope.”

“Bu-”

“No!”

“Ron, seriou-”

“G’night Harry, talk to you tomorrow!”

And with that, Ron hustled up to bed. Harry was quick to follow, if only to get this night over with.

***HCTHtM***

The next morning and the following month followed a very simple pattern: meditation/animagus practice, exercise, eat, school, eat, socialize, eat, study, bed. There was very little variation. Well, putting aside his walks on Mondays and Thursdays with Draco. And the one odd time the Gryffindor girls locked him in his room to put girls clothes and makeup on him. That was a day he hoped never to have to experience again. 

His walks with his new partner (were they boyfriends now?) were going much better than Harry thought they would. By the end of the month, they’d worked out that almost all the differences they’d had in previous years were either misunderstandings, revenge for aforementioned misunderstandings, or attempts to gain the other’s attention. And so, they’d mended the bridges broken, and were working on seeing if they were indeed compatible with each other. They’d so far found that they at least made good friends. True to the threats made on the train, however, they were never really alone without either Hermione and/or Pansy present.

Though, as close as he and Draco were getting (as well as Pansy and Hermione, oddly enough), it seemed like he and Ron were drifting apart. The young Weasley boy just couldn’t accept all the changes that were happening all at once. Honestly, it was almost too much for Harry as well, but he just did what he always did and soldiered on. 

In other news, Harry seemed to have definitely stopped shrinking. He had managed to change back for a few seconds (hooray!), and he was feeling that annoying ache in his whole body now. His hair had sprouted down to his mid-back, and his facial features and body structure had become very delicate, almost elfin. While all this was pointing toward ‘humanoid’, Harry (even with the expansive Hogwarts library) still couldn’t narrow it down past ‘some kind of fey creature’, which was frustrating because if he didn’t identify the creature he was supposed to be, he couldn’t finish the transformation.

Harry couldn’t wait to finish this process, honestly. It was a lot more effort than it was worth, in his case. He wanted his normal body back. His original hair never got in the way like this.He’d resorted to getting Hermione to help him braid it each day. The poor boy had started getting frustrated easier, and just moodier in general when he wasn’t with Draco, Hermione, or Ginny.

In all, it felt like Harry was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And drop it did, on October 30.

***HCTHtM***

It was a cloudy night, but definitely seemed like it was going to stay dry, which was nice for the students of Hogwarts. The entire school had turned out for the arrival of the foreign schools Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. The French and Romanian schools were the direct rivals of Hogwarts, as far as Harry had learned, and only the best students from seventh year would be coming to put themselves forward.

Harry was standing next to Draco, shadowed by Hermione. Pansy had been otherwise occupied, so the bushy haired girl was their babysitter. He was rubbing his arms underneath his cloak, because late October was no time to be standing outside in the late evening. It was  _ cold _ , dammit. Draco put his arm around Harry, and the chill of the night receded just a little bit. 

The whole of Hogwarts watched on as absolutely nothing happened. Just as the students were starting to get really antsy, they heard Dumbledore exclaim “Ah! It seems the French have arrived!” 

Everyone started looking around, not seeing anything, until a young voice piped up. “Look! Up in the sky!” 

And indeed, there was a sky blue carriage hurtling through the sky, pulled by beautiful winged horses, and more massive than any he’d seen before (not that he’d had a lot of exposure to carriages besides the Hogwarts ones). The huge thing slammed down onto the ground hard enough that Harry could feel vibrations even twenty feet away. 

Once stopped,the door opened, and out stepped ten girls, followed by probably the tallest woman in the world, in Harry’s opinion. He heard an impressed whistle, then an  _ oof _ as, presumably, the whistler in question had gotten elbowed or hit in his stomach.

The tall woman (who  _ had _ to be the headmistress of the French school) exchanged pleasantries with Dumbledore, then led her shivering girls into the castle. As they passed though, Harry felt a comforting aura radiating from one of the students. Interestingly, the older blonde was staring at Harry, a surprised smile on her face. The moment passed, and the girl had to go with the rest of her peers into the warmth of the castle. The last he saw of her, she was whispering back to her headmistress, and pointing back at Harry.

Harry, fully distracted by the girl, didn’t even pay attention to the arrival of the Durmstrang boys. He was contemplating that brief exposure to the girl’s aura, when Draco pulled him out of his thoughts. 

“You alright, Harry? I thought you were immune to Veela?” his boyfriend looked at him in concern, and Harry shook his head to clear it. 

“Yeah, Draco. I’m good. Have the Durm…” Harry’s sentence didn’t need to be finished, because the last of the burgundy robe wearing boys had stepped off the  _ giant effing ship _ that had somehow shown up in the middle of a landlocked lake.  _ ‘How even…’  _ Harry thought absently.  _ ‘Nope. not gonna ask. Just chalk it up to magic and leave it there.’ _

The Hogwarts student body followed the Scandanavian boys (one of which was Viktor Krum!) back into the school and to the Great Hall. Harry and Draco were waylaid by a girls voice shouting out at them. 

“Pardon,” they said. Harry, feeling the aura again, knew immediately that it was the blonde girl. He turned around, and, of course, there she was. Stately, beautiful, and… happy to see him for some reason?

“Uh, yes? How can I help you?” Harry asked politely. 

“‘Ello. My name is Fleur Delacour.” She responded in a heavy french accent. “I did not expect to meet anozzer Veela ‘ere in ‘Ogwarts. Come, you must let me sit wiz you.”

Harry, very confused, disengaged his arm from Draco’s and nodded to him, then told him they’d meet later in the week for their walk. Fleur looked delighted, and Hermione behind them seemed about to burst with questions.

The three of them, or at least Fleur, turned heads as they passed by. The other Beauxbatons girls had decided to sit at the Ravenclaw table, but the older French girl followed the two friends back to the Gryffindor table. Fleur kept up a running commentary of all the things that were different (and worse) about Hogwarts, but that it was all bearable for the chance to interact with another Veela.

Once sat down, Fleur, Harry, and Hermione listened attentively to the announcements about the Goblet of Fire. It was beautiful in a strange way. The blue flames edged on white, similar but much more ominous than Hermione’s bluebell flames from first year. 

“Eet ‘as a certain… presence, non?” Fleur whispered to Harry. “Ze flame. It calls to you, yes?”

It did. As the goblet was removed from the Great Hall, Harry couldn’t help but watch it go. A sense of resonating warmth in the middle of his chest had blossomed, just under his heart. Something in him snapped a bit, and he shook his head. He really needed to stop spacing out. 

Hermione was not so enamored by the goblet, and could see Draco glaring at Fleur from across the room, so she cleared her throat and as they got into dinner, asked “Fleur, what were you saying earlier about Harry? You said something about him being a veela, but that should be impossible, right?”

Fleur blinked a couple times, then looked at Harry with an amused expression. “ So. You ‘ave zem call you ‘arry? Eet is short for ‘arriet, yes?” She then turned to Hermione and put on a patient smile. 

“Your ‘arry is veela. She cannot be a  _ him.  _ Eet is impossible. Veela are women. Unless you call ‘im zat because ‘e one of zose… ‘ow you call zem? Ze boy-girls?” Harry was mortified by the conversation and, trying to shut down this line of thought, interrupted.

“Uh, excuse me. I really am a boy. Erm… bits and all, y’know.” 

“Non.” Fleur shook her head. “C’est impossible. You ‘ave ze Allure. Eet is ‘ow I found you. You cannot mimic a veela allure, and veela cannot be male, z’erefore you cannot me male.” She furnished smugly.

Harry sighed and looked around. The meal was in full swing; even Hermione and Fleur were eating as they argued. “Listen,” he pleaded. “I’ll prove it after the feast. Just come with us to an empty classroom and you’ll believe me.” Fleur looked decidedly unimpressed with his assertion.

***HCTHtM***

Now, it always seems like when you don’t want something to happen, time looks at you and smiles maliciously, before speeding up unnecessarily. Or at least, that’s how it felt to Harry, who was thoroughly surprised when Hermione led him away from the Great Hall, with Fleur following behind.

Harry objected that they hadn’t gotten the password from a prefect, but Hermione’s response sounded almost insulted. 

“You think I wouldn’t have gotten the password before going off on this new and strangely intriguing adventure?”

Harry had no way to refute that logic, so he decided to remain silent.

Fleur looked both amused at the antics of the two younger students, and interested in the tapestries and architecture of the castle. Once they’d found a suitably private room off the side of the entrance hall, Harry sat on a chair and sighed before looking up at Hermione.

“So… I may have been keeping a secret, Hermione.”

The mentioned girl leveled an unimpressed stare at him, eyebrows raised, and arms crossed under her breasts. 

“No…” She drawled, sarcasm oozing from her tone. “I never would have guessed.”

“Okay, well. Uh, here goes.” Harry reached inside himself for the warm feeling and  _ pulled,  _ trying to keep the thing from trickling back for as long as possible.

As a result, a boy (fully recognizable as such), shimmered into being out of the shape Hermione had come to accept. It was the Harry she had known for four years. Black, tousled hair, sharp features, tall-ish and gangly, and decidedly  _ Harry. _ Hermione’s jaw dropped, and her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. She was trying to reconcile this change, when Harry changed back. 

“Huh, ten seconds. A new personal best.”

“Que se passe-t-il?” Fleur mumbled in French. “Eet was gone. Ze Allure. Now eet is back. What in Merlin’s name are you?”

While Fleur was busy talking to herself and studying Harry, Hermione was silently doing the same. She walked around the boy, making sure it wasn’t an illusion. 

“Ten seconds? You can only transform back for ten seconds?” She inquired. 

“Yeah.” He confirmed, nervous about Fleur’s increasingly French ranting. “It’s weird. It’s almost like this form’s taking over my old one.” 

“This form? So you’re aware of why you are changing?”

“I-I mean, yeah.” Harry stuttered out. “B-but, you got to promise not to be mad, Hermione. I went to Padfoot and everything, and even Moony helped.”

Hermione digested this information, adding it to her already growing pile of thoughts to sift through.  _ ‘Transformations, Sirius, Veela. He could be a metamorph, but that makes no sense. If Fleur’s correct, he’s turning into a veela, and veela are magical creat…. Wait a tic.’ _

Hermione’s expression turned thunderous, and Harry, figuring she had sussed out the situation, backed away slightly.

“Now Hermione, there’s no reason to-”

“HARRY JAMES POTTER!” She yelled furiously. “Did you really become an animagus without anyone to supervise you?! How bloody irrespons-”

Hermione continued to vent, but suddenly she was silent. Harry blinked in surprise, then saw Fleur tapping her wand against her arm. His friend had turned to the French witch, face an unattractive red, and still yelling angrily to boot. She pointed at her throat, and widened her eyes expectantly. Fleur, eyebrow raised, waited a moment before saying “Are you finished?” The brown haired girl rolled her eyes and nodded with a deep, calming breath. She was un-silenced. 

“‘arry,” Fleur cooed, her voice making said boy quail in apprehension. “You are going zhrough an animagus journey, yes?”

Harry nodded nervously. Fleur’s eyes seemed to pierce through him. 

“I would be insulted my ‘eritage could be considered enough of a creature to be eligible as a valid animagus form, but I believe eet will be interesting enough to soothe my temper.” The blonde girl laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder, grasping it in a way that made Harry aware he would be going nowhere without her permission.

“Leetle girl. ‘ermione, was eet not?” Hermione affirmed her statement with a wary nod. “I will be taking ‘arry to ze Beauxbatons carriage tonight.” The other girl’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened to argue, but the seventh year overrode her. 

“Non. ‘e will be coming wiz me. ‘e needs to finish ‘is transformation, or ‘is body will begin to break down from ze strain. I zhould ‘ave ‘im back to you tonight, or at least by tomorrow morning.”

And with that, Harry was herded out of the castle and into the periwinkle blue monstrosity that was the French carriage.

***HCTHtM***

As they walked through the hallway that was  _ much _ bigger than it had any right being, Fleur cast a spell over Harry. 

“You can understand me, yes?”

“Yeah.” Harry replied, confused as to why he shouldn’t be able to. 

“I cast a translation charm on you. It should last through our discussion, and make it easier on us to communicate.”

“Oh,” the boy said simply. “Well, that’s right useful.”

Fleur pushed him into a room, looking to make sure she wasn’t spotted with an underage boy. 

The following few minutes were an education in being patient. After locking and silencing the door, Fleur paced a little, showing her agitation. Harry took the time to look around the room before the veela girl could start her ‘lesson’.

The room was blue, as was the rest of the carriage, with cream colored accents. The sheets were white, the wood furniture was a light one that Harry wouldn’t be able to identify if you held him at wand-point, and the whole room just had a very posh feel to it. Fleur’s possessions had not yet had time to migrate across the entire thing, so it looked every clean and not lived in at all. Harry was pulled from his visual tour by Fleur’s wand hitting him in the head sharply. 

“You meditate to work on your form, right?” Harry nodded. He seemed to be doing that a lot tonight.

“You will take your position on the floor and enter into your meditation while listening to my voice.”

Harry did as he was told, slipping off the chair he was on, to the floor. He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, beginning the descent into peace he’d gotten used to all summer.

“Listen to my voice.”Fleur said softly. “You already know what you have to do. Take your time. Feel your whole body melting into peace. There is only darkness. Darkness and my voice. Let all thought go.”

~~~~~

Fleur watched as the small boy that surprised her so slipped deep into a meditative state. It took her about ten minutes to get him into the state she wanted him in. 

Thinking her plan would expedite this process, she stepped behind him and fell to her knees. She pulled him into a hug, her arms around his chest. She put her head next to his ear and let her allure loose. She could tell Harry felt it, because she felt his breath quicken. 

“Picture a small flame. Hold it close. A wind is trying to put it out, and you must protect it. Feel the warmth around you, the comfort of the feminine energy. Go through your process keeping these things close. You are becoming veela. It is empowering. You feel so safe and comfortable.”

Fleur felt a welling of magic. Harry’s allure was getting stronger. She basked in it, happy that even though he wasn’t born a veela, he would be able to commiserate with her soon.

~~~~~

Harry felt warm. So warm. The fire he held in his arms was cleansing and scorching. Slowly, it started to become gentler, more soothing. It began merging into his chest, taking the place of his heart, and he felt such gratitude for the feelings it imbued in him that he accepted it without question. 

He could feel -even through his meditation- his body changing, snapping into place like it was the most natural thing in the world. And now that he felt the way it was supposed to be, he knew he could replace it with practice. 

Harry didn’t know how long it took him to rise from his meditation, but when he did, it was to Fleur hugging him from behind. 

As he opened his eyes, he heard Fleur whisper “Welcome to the life of a veela, sister.”


End file.
